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[Tony barely registers the first hot spurt hitting the back of his throat because at that moment, his own climax hits him, and only instinct and an inability to do anything else keep him in place on Steve.

Tony isn't in the habit of ranking his orgasms - honestly, he'd hit too many to count by the end of his teens - but this easily overcomes every other one he's had. He actually whites out briefly while Steve's cock is still pulsing deep in his throat. He clutches blindly at Steve's ass with his good hand, fingers digging into the muscle.

His orgasm ebbs, and Tony gradually comes back to his senses, or as much as he can with his brain flooded with endorphins. He lets Steve's dick slide slowly out of his mouth, feeling the sudden emptiness of his throat and thinking about how it would feel if it were his ass pleasantly stretched out and then left achingly empty. God, he just came, he can still feel his heart pounding in his chest, and all he can think about is Steve fucking him.

Tony succumbs to gravity and muscles that can no longer hold him up and flops back against the mats with a thud. When he finally speaks, his voice is scratchy and rough.]

What the fuck?

[ It is entirely possible that Tony's firm grip on Steve's ass was all that kept him upright, because as soon as Tony releases him, he collapses like a sack of bricks. He must make an undignified picture, face flushed and chest heaving, legs akimbo with his spent dick hanging out of his sweats, but he makes no effort to adjust, staring back at Tony in some mixture of awe and confusion. ]

Did you just...?

[ It feels like an insane thing to ask, and yet, here they are. For all of Steve's inexperience, he knows that most men can't come without so much as a helping hand, especially not at Tony's age. Steve surprises himself with how desperately he wants to be the reason for it, however improbable. He thought that coming would break the fever but he only feels more wound up, blood already rushing back south as he tries and fails not to imagine how Tony would look if Steve fucked him into that mat, wondering if he could come on Steve's cock like that too. ]

[Somehow - and Tony's not really sure how - he manages to crawl over to Steve, although crawling might be a generous term for an action that's really more wriggling like a worm once he's rolled over onto his stomach. But he wants to be close to Steve in the worst way, like sex has reopened the floodgates of physical intimacy. He makes it far enough to rest his chin on Steve's abs and throw his arm over his stomach, and as he tucks his body against Steve's legs, Tony decides that's good enough for now.]

Yeah, I did. [Tony lifts his head just enough to give Steve a confused look. He can still feel the burn of arousal in the pit of his stomach, and at his age, he's strictly a one and done kind of guy.] Haven't managed that since fuck knows when.

[He squirms a little higher, this time managing to make it all the way to Steve's chest before he lowers his head again. Tony can hear Steve's heartbeat, feel his chest rise and fall, and it's deeply comforting in a way he doesn't quite understand.]

Give me a sec. [To let his brain spin back up, he means, because there's something he's missing here and he can't put it together when his brain is half-addled from a mind-blowing orgasm, although he's not sure he really wants to push his brain out of the warm haze it's in. It's a lot like the mental equivalent of being wrapped in a soft blanket, usually the sort of thing that can only be accomplished with drugs (and Tony's many years past the point where he's willing to give up that much control over his body), and it's nice to just stop. Even more so with Steve right there under him.]

[ While his data set is largely comprised of one-on-one sessions, if there is one thing that Steve knows about his sex drive, it is that he is not a one and done kind of guy. He also knows that he is a walking scientific marvel and there was never hope of Tony keeping up with his stamina, so he doesn't harbor any expectation for more. But then Tony throws him for yet another loop and moves back in for the post-climax cuddle that Steve had unconsciously written off as strictly off limits.

He really has to stop assuming how little— or how much, it seems— he can get away with when it comes to Tony. Case in point: if Tony feels comfortable enough to rest his head on Steve's chest, then Steve can't be taking too many liberties by lowering his chin to rest lightly against Tony's head. That's just quid pro quo. And if Tony feels a pair of lips against the crown of his head, and if those lips linger just a little too long to be passed off as just a little brush, at least they've established that no one is really keeping score. ] Take your time. I'm in no hurry. [ And then, with a light tug on Tony's sleeve: ] But aren't you hot in that?

[ Between Steve's body heat and the fact that Tony just did most of the work of getting them off, it can't possibly be comfortable under all those layers. And yeah, maybe Steve wants to see as much of Tony as Tony gets to see of him. Sue him. ]

Edited 2021-08-08 02:18 (UTC)

[While Steve thinks of Tony as distant (and, admittedly, for good reason), the problem is that once he feels comfortable around someone, it's impossible to get him to stop touching. There aren't a whole lot of people who get to witness his clingy side, but it's there, and Steve has just found himself added to that number. He can kiss his personal space goodbye.

Tony makes a face when Steve kisses his hair - not because of the kiss, but because his hair is damp with sweat and probably about to dry into those damn wisps he's spent half his life trying to subdue with hair product. The kiss, well, if his heart skips a beat, that can definitely be attributed to pre-existing conditions, right?]

Mmm, [Tony agrees noncommittally. It feels ridiculous to be self-conscious in front of Steve (at least when it comes to his scars, because there are so many other things to be self-conscious about when compared to a man who is basically a living marble statue), but he doesn't want Steve to look at him with pity in his eyes. He's reminded of just after Afghanistan, when he'd still been half-broken in so many ways (as if he isn't now), and he hadn't been able to stomach the thought of anyone besides Pepper seeing the wreck of his chest. Yeah, Tony's still vain, even with a little more fat around his hips and a dusting of grey hair and a lot more scars. But he knows how people see him, and he desperately needs to live up to that image. He doesn't want anyone to see him as weak, even when it's someone who knows what it's like to actually be weak. Maybe especially then.

On the other hand, he also very much wants to be naked with Steve. It's terrible conflicting logic, but Tony can't help it.

After a moment, he shifts his weight and rolls more on top of Steve, yanking his good arm out of the sleeve with a bit of a struggle, then rolls back to the other side and uses his good arm to pull it the rest of the way around and-]

Little help here?

[He gives an ungainly flap of his arm, and the free fabric at the bottom of the jacket swishes.]

My pleasure, [ Steve answers cheekily, still high off the confidence boost from making Tony orgasm out of thin air. (Thin air and magic, but that parade will get rained on eventually; no reason to let the inevitable sour the present.)

Does helping Tony require Steve wrapping an arm around his waist? Perhaps not, but there's also nothing that says he can't make an excuse to reach under Tony's jacket and slowly trace the length of his spine up to his shoulder before he gradually starts to push the sleeve off from the inside out.

Steve's newfound confidence seems to find its limit as it dawns that since they've stopped moving, Tony is left all but sitting in Steve's lap, where Steve's dick lives, and where it's making a valiant recovery effort, which even in Steve's book would be some freakishly quick turnaround. His cheeks flush, his expression takes on an apologetic quality, and a keen observer might guess that he's just a few seconds from making another series of superfluous apologies. ]

So I see.

[Or feel, rather, because his pants - which are kind of unpleasantly wet - are the same thin fabric as his windbreaker, and since it's pretty much impossible to ignore Steve's dick, Tony doesn't. Instead, he tips his head back to grin cheekily up at Steve. As long as Steve's looking at his face, he's not looking at the scars running up the length of Tony's arm, the way Tony's fingers form a stiff claw most of the time. (He's actually here to do exercises for physical therapy, but clearly that isn't happening.)

Tony casually swings one leg over Steve's hips, lets his good hand settle in the small of his back.]

I hate to break it to you, but I don't keep lube in my gym bag. And if you try to argue that spit is lube, I'm going to ask if you've ever looked at your dick before, Secretariat.

[ Steve tilts his head to one side, visibly confused. ]

I keep Vaseline in mine, actually, but what does your secretary fetish have to do with lube?

[ If only Tony had gone with Seabiscuit, Steve might have caught the reference and avoided what is sure to be an embarrassing explanation. But right now he's in the calm before that storm, so to speak, and the only thing on his mind is the the scent of Tony's sweat-drenched hair mixed with expensive hair products, which is a more comforting smell than he would have ever guessed. ]

["Secretary fe-" Tony mouths, wrinkling his face up, and then-]

Secretariat was a horse. A Triple Crown-winning stallion, to be more precise. And, y'know, it's been years since the last time I was in the saddle, but I think I still remember a thing or two.

[Tony rocks his hips, as if to demonstrate, and of course he grinds against Steve's dick, because what else is he going to do in this situation? It's absurd, bordering on unbelievable.]

Though let me just say that I'm not entirely opposed to relocating this conversation.

[On one hand, he's a little terrified that everything will pop like a soap bubble if either of them have the opportunity to reconsider. On the other, he really wants the kind of intimacy best approached in a bedroom, where you can get away with sprawling in an undignified, debauched heap without anyone wondering why the door's been locked for hours.]

[ Steve chokes out an embarrassing moan, first triggered at the mental image of Tony "in the saddle" then made worse (louder) when Tony grinds down on him. ]

Fuck, Tony, you can't just— [ But Steve can't actually bring himself to discourage anything that Tony is doing, or might want to do, so he just trails off, trying to catch his breath and maintain some control.

After some deep inhale-exhale exercises, his brain finally catches up enough to begin considering the strategy side. As one does. ] Okay, yeah, I'm— I'm not opposed either. But how would we relocate without being seen?

[Tony tilts his head, like the shame of being seen is an entirely new concept to him. Honestly, at this point in his life, he's over giving a fuck about who sees him en deshabille, even when it's the rest of his fellow Avengers. (Which, really, considering how often he's seen Banner naked...yeah. One wet pair of pants is nothing.)]

Mmkay. You get your pants back on and head back to my room. I'll give you ten minutes, then I'll leave. Fri, unlock my room for Steve.

Sure thing, Boss.

[Thankfully, FRIDAY doesn't offer any further commentary, and Tony glances at Steve to confirm the plan before he (totally ungracefully) climbs off of him and stands up.]

[ Shame is not as great a concern for Steve as teasing is. He knows that the other Avengers would take any hint of this— whatever this is, between him and Tony— as an invitation to tease mercilessly. And Steve can't think of any surer way to kill the mood than letting their nosiest friends crack jokes about the whole situation.

Thankfully, Tony is quick with a plan. Steve nods along a few times and then springs into action, Tony's instructions easy to follow even with anticipation burning him up inside. As he pulls open the door to leave, he looks back at Tony seriously and says: ] Make it five minutes.

[Tony has every intention of making Steve wait ten minutes just to drive him up the wall, but somewhere around minute seven, he realizes he's starting to feel the familiar edge of arousal creeping up on him again. Which, okay, makes sense with the anticipation of what he's about to do, but also makes significantly less sense when considering what his rebound time should be (very much not fifteen minutes, probably more accurately measured in hours). He wants to chalk it up to the promise of fulfilling a long-time fantasy, but something feels off here. Maybe it's medically inadvisable to have sex this soon after almost dying (or actually dying; Tony doesn't want to think about it too much). Maybe Steve fucked something up. Maybe Tony fucked something up.

That's something to consider later, ideally after as many rounds of sex as physically possible, Tony decides, because he's Tony Stark and everything is for future Tony to deal with, which is how he always ends up fucking himself over. He ties the windbreaker over the wet spot on his pants and makes his way to his room, thankfully without bumping into any of their teammates on the way. Hopefully Steve managed the same thing.]

[ Steve's route to Tony's room is mostly uneventful, save for a near brush with Clint on video call with his entire family, and that's maybe the first time Steve can remember his life flashing before his eyes like that without being in active battle. Thankfully, FRIDAY is looking out enough to steer Steve down an alternate route, and he finally makes it to Tony's room with three minutes to spare. Or eight, if Tony sticks to his original plan, but Steve can't imagine he'd want to prolong the wait.

As the minutes stretch on, excruciatingly slow, Steve begins to mentally curse himself for saying anything. He was too eager, wasn't he? The blushing virgin thing is just a novelty, it couldn't possibly hold Tony's interest much longer. Any minute now, FRIDAY is going to pipe up in Tony's place and inform Steve that actually, Tony has decided to do anything else and Steve should remove himself from Tony's room posthaste.

He goes back and forth with himself for another few minutes, which is long enough for Tony to finally catch up. Steve, having fully talked himself into a tizzy by now, actually startles in surprise when Tony arrives. ]

That was longer than ten minutes, [ Steve accuses, because it had to be. That wait was endless. ]

I was kind of hoping you'd be naked, [Tony blurts out. Although that's what he would do - would have done before their fight with Thanos, he's not sure he'd have the nerve to go through with it right now - and therefore he should expect Steve to do the total opposite. But that's basically how his fantasies begin: Steve naked and touching himself on the bed when Tony walks in. He realizes suddenly that fantasy Steve is nothing like real Steve, that the real Steve Rogers is actually awkward and skittish and why the fuck does Tony feel like he's about to have a panic attack?

Okay. Tony sucks in a deep breath and puts his good hand on Steve's shoulder, then changes his mind and cups his cheek.]

Steve, [he begins, and realizes he doesn't know what to say, that the full focus of those blue eyes is enough to pin him like a bug on a card. So instead, he leans up and kisses him.]

Shit. Yeah. That was the move, wasn't it? [ Now that Tony is here, Steve regrets not being more proactive, but at the same time, he doubts that it ever would have occurred to him to wait for Tony in the nude. (There is a small tangled pile at his feet, but those are his hand wraps, which he can't remember removing but must have unraveled through sheer nervous impulse.)

The jury remains out on whether Steve should bail, because it's finally hitting that he's in way over his head, but then Tony moves in to touch Steve's shoulder, then his cheek, and Steve could cry from relief, gratitude, you name it. He doesn't understand why Tony, a man accustomed to the best of everything, would waste his time with Steve, who is giving nothing— but he also isn't going to question it. Not when Tony is leaning and— ]

Mmph. [ Something between a squawk and a gasp is muffled when their lips meet, but it doesn't take Steve long to recover from the surprise and lean in. This, he knows how to do: he wraps his hand around Tony's neck and moves in until their chests are almost pressed together. His other hand circles around the small of Tony's back, and yeah, there might be some subconscious fear involved, because the universe never lets Steve have things like this, and he's learned to hold on tight. ]

[Tony feels the heat of Steve's body radiating through his thin t-shirt, and god, it's everything he's ever wanted. He could stand here and neck like a teenager all day - well, maybe not all day, but a reasonable amount of time. The distance between them dwindles to nothing as Tony presses up against Steve, and a tightness that's been sitting in his chest since he woke up in the hospital eases.

When they finally break for air, Tony stays close, bumps his forehead against Steve's.]

Bed, [he informs him. Judging by his tone of voice, that's an order, Captain.]

[ Usually Steve is the one giving orders, but there is something unexpectedly, undeniably hot about Tony speaking to him in that tone of voice. He moves to follow directions quickly, lowering the arm he has around Tony down to under his ass. Steve's other hand follows, on the opposite side, and then he has a firm enough grip to lift Tony off of the ground.

He's blushing when he looks at Tony again, this time having to look up. Steve runs his hands along the underside of Tony's thighs, encouraging him to wrap his legs around Steve's waist for stability, and there's no doubt now that Tony can feel how hard Steve still is, pressed against each other like they are. ]

Is this okay? [ Steve asks belatedly, because it's all-too-feasible that Tony wouldn't take kindly to being manhandled. ]

If I ever complain about something like that, check to see if I've been replaced by an alien or a robot.

[Tony's voice is breathless, edging closer to that undignified whimper territory, because Steve manhandling him is every bit as hot as he's expected, and he can feel Steve's cock pressing against his groin. Against all logic, and possibly science, his own dick stirs, starting to take a definite interest in things.

He grins down at Steve from this new vantage point, and maybe there's a hint of mania seeping in around the edges of his smile, but he's fine. Better than fine, really. Tony twines his arms around Steve's neck.]

How far down does that blush go?

[You know. For science.]

I doubt that'll ever be an issue. You're inimitable.

[ Surely Tony has heard that before, but perhaps not with the same fondness that sneaks into Steve's voice now. Not for the first time, Steve feels almost overwhelmed with anxiety, and then quick relief, remembering suddenly how close they came to losing again. (Sure, they still would have beat Thanos, but it wouldn't have felt like a win without Tony living to see it.)

This moment now, with Tony in his arms and Tony's arms wrapped around him, feels more intimate than anything yet. He lets out a small laugh, a little nervous, a little flattered by Tony's clear interest. Objectively, Steve knows how he looks now, how others see him. But Tony is one of the few people who always saw through all of that, who saw the little guy with his catalog of insecurities underneath it all. ]

You're welcome to find out, [ he leans close to say into Tony's ear. He moves forward until his shins hit the edge of the bed and carefully lowers Tony onto the mattress. They seem to fit together now without much effort at all, and the sight of Tony Stark laid out before him is the stuff of fantasies. Steve maintains his place between Tony's legs as he reaches over his head to pull off his shirt. He tosses it aside, immediately forgotten, and tugs gently at the hem of Tony's shirt. ] May I?

Um.

[The inimitable Tony Stark is, for once, at a loss for words. It's not like this is the first time he's seen Steve shirtless - they've all changed clothes wherever and whenever necessary - but it's the first time he's had the chance to really look, the first time knowing that he's allowed to touch the expanse of bare skin (with that blush creeping down Steve's chest). And as impressive as the muscles are (which they definitely are), Tony somehow knows that he would feel exactly the same if this was Steve before the serum. It's Steve that's important, impossibly frustrating and stubborn as he is.

Tony reaches up to touch Steve with his good hand before he realizes that Steve's trying to take off his shirt - that he's asking - and there's a split second of panic when he thinks about the scarring that runs the length of his arm. He's used to the circular scar on his chest where the arc reactor used to be, but this is new and ugly and he hasn't had time to adjust yet. He tries to hide it whenever he can, even from himself. For someone who's spent so much of his life coasting along on his good looks (among other things), it's fucking hard.

So, yeah, the hesitation before he nods is noticeable. He knows it won't bother Steve, but that doesn't mean it won't bother him.]

[ Steve first noticed it back in the gym: the way that Tony favored his non-dominant hand, how he angled himself to keep his arm out of view. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, and Steve had felt a pang of guilt then, because his healing was over and done with, no scars in sight. He had wanted to respect Tony's clear discomfort, so he didn't say anything then. But now it's unavoidable. ]

Don't hide from me. [ What might've been an order comes out sounding more like a plea. He really hasn't any right to demand more of Tony, and more trust at that, but he can't help himself. He needs Tony to understand how much Steve wants every part of him. ]

Just act like everything's normal, okay?

[Because he can just imagine Steve drawing attention to his arm to try to make him feel better about it, and that's the last thing he wants right now. Yeah, he gets that Steve wants him, but they don't need to get into every single detail. Tony lifts the hem of his shirt up with his good hand, motioning for Steve to keep going.]

Yeah, yes. Sure. [ Steve nods— probably a little too insistently, to be honest— but he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on Tony's face. It occurs to him that the best way to pull Tony out of his head might be to shift the attention away from Tony's arm, to himself and his body. Steve feels awkward sometimes, being admired for something that resulted from the hard work of people far smarter than him, but he'll take the awkwardness to spare Tony his clear discomfort.

So, in the interest of stealing the show, he pulls on the elastic of his joggers until his cock all but bounces out of them. Not giving himself even a second to hesitate, Steve takes a hand and strokes himself, getting more turned on than he expected at the idea that Tony will see him like this, that he's inviting Tony's gaze like this. ]

[Tony's distraction might be overly predictable, but in his defense, he's pretty sure anyone with even the slightest interest in dicks - and maybe a few open to questioning - would be distracted by Steve fucking Rogers putting on a show. His own cock twitches, reminding him again that a physical response really shouldn't be possible, but he doesn't care. He knows that being on display makes Steve uncomfortable, and that makes this moment all the more precious.]

Yeah, [Tony encourages him breathlessly, his gaze fixed hungrily on Steve's hand. It would be embarrassing to admit how many times he's thought about Steve touching himself, but it figures in the top five of Steve-related fantasies.] Just- just slow down a bit there. Make this one last.

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